


Different Stars

by ma_r



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 20:34:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14480691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ma_r/pseuds/ma_r
Summary: Arthur J. Pendragon remembers fragments of his previous life. He just doesn't remember living it.





	Different Stars

Arthur J. Pendragon remembers a different sky.  
  
Every time he looks up to search for familiar shapes, he only sees darkness. He remembers looking up and seeing a clear sky without the horrible buildings blocking his sight. He remembers that it was the stars that once guided him home. He does not remember his way home. But he remembers that he once could read the starred sky as well as he could read his own name.  
  
He remembers the way the forest smells just before a thunderstorm. The way the war-drums sounded. He does not remember the war, neither does he remember where the forest once laid.  
  
Some days he wakes up and remembers a familiar weight that is now missing from his hand, that he is walking without something that once was always carried at his waist. He remembers that he once wore metal instead of blended polyester. He does not remember how to wield a sword or the once familiar names of the pieces of an armor.  
  
He knows that there is something missing when he greets the public. He knows that he had to get used to wearing something on his head when he had to make an important announcement. He knows he once wore gold and silver on his head as he greeted important people. He does not remember the weight of his crown.  
  
He remembers blue and kind and secret-full eyes and the way their owner was always there for him. He remembers how calm their voice made him and how he could always count on them. He remembers betrayal. He does not remember the other man's many secrets.  
  
He remembers green eyes filled with fire and love and hate and remembers watching the life draining out of them. He remembers a torn black dress and a gem-encrusted dagger. He does not remember why she had to die.  
  
He remembers kind brown eyes that always heald nobility and remembers loving the owner. He remembers secret smiles and the way she kissed. He does not remember the name of the queen he once loved, nor does he remember her loving him in return.  
  
He remembers a stern voice ordering him to do things he did not want to do, and the same voice singing him at night when he had nightmares. He remembers that same voice, shaky with fear and madness. He does not remember his father.  
  
There are times when he sees something in the corner of his eyes and he remembers the flash of a red cape and its familiar texture. He remembers a golden dragon. He remembers companionship and honor. He does not remember the importance of the cape and he does not remember the people he would have died for.  
  
He is sometimes putting on his belt and he remembers saddling a horse and the familiarity of mounting it. He can also remember the freedom it brought him. He remembers a castle in the distance and the protectiveness he felt for it.  He does not remember growing up on it.  
  
Once he is sick, and as he takes his medicine he remembers white hair and old scarred hands, he remembers the taste of frog vile and the way ginger and honey was the only remedy for a hurting throat that he enjoyed. He does not remember a room with books and medicine. He does not remember a man that had always been good and loyal to him.  
  
He wakes up with a hangover and he remembers the taste of mead and ale and a fight. He does not remember the outcome and he does not remember his most loyal knight.  
  
On Halloween, he remembers the sound of a chalice hitting the floor and the fast beating of his heat as he rode somewhere. He does not remember the sacrifice of his most noble knight nor does he remembers his name.  
  
He remembers a man with curly hair and patient eyes. He remembers his presence always near, comforting. He remembers his immeasurable patience and devotion. He does not remember his last words to his First Knight.  
  
He remembers callused hands and passion. He remembers a dark tower and fierce protectiveness. He does not remember the masterpieces the man could build out of a forge. He does not remember grieving for his bravest knight.  
  
He remembers ripped sleeves and strong arms, he remembers the quiet and peace the presence that this man brought. He remembers immense pride when watching him fight. He does not remember how kind his gentlest knight was.  
  
He remembers a child with blue eyes and a penetrating stare. He remembers feeling proud about saving him. He remembers the young man's loyalty. He remembers how much he loved him. He does not remember his knight's eyes as he entrusted a sword on his stomach. He does not remember killing his only magical knight.  
  
He goes to visit his parent's graves and he remembers the ghost of a queen, he does not remember her importance, nor the thousands of lives Death took after her last breath.  
  
He is working on a presentation and remembers the smell of fresh ink and the way holding a quill used to hurt his fingers. He remembers the sound of parchment unrolling. He does not remember the long nights and the presence of a friend as he wrote and wrote and wrote.  
  
He remembers gold eyes and death and falling branches and protective shields. He remembers a mother crying for her son and snakes coming to life. He remembers a blue light and warmth. He remembers his fear, as well as his fascination and love. He does not remember the magic and the many ways it saved his life nor the countless lives he reaped because of it.  
  
He remembers hounds on a chase, how to skin a prey, the best way to shoot an arrow. He remembers happiness and accomplishment, he remembers thinking about people not starving. He remembers a white horse and days without food. He does not remember why he loved hunting.  
  
He remembers the smell of human skin burning, he remembers the comfort a campfire brought him. He remembers the way dragon-fire burned. He remembers seeing fire fly. He remembers the ways smoke clung to leather. He does not remember how to light a fire without matches.  
  
He remembers open fields and the flowers that bloomed along it, he remembers the way bodies could litter it in less than a day, he remembers the way his feet would sink on bloodstained grass. He remembers grieving. He does not remember why.  
  
He remembers people watching him, expecting something of him, he remembers a crushing fear of disappointing then, of being unworthy of their devotion. He does not remember his duty to his people. He does not remember pulling a sword out of a stone.   
  
He remembers kneeling and feeling something being placed on his shoulders. He remembers the uncomfortable way his clothes fit. He remembers an oath but does not remember the words. He does not remember being crowned King nor the weight of that kind of responsibility on his shoulders.  
  
He is sitting and he remembers sitting in the lap of an older man. He remembers the older man telling him about his place in the world. He remembers craving for something he didn’t know how to ask for. He does not remember ever sitting on a throne. He does not remember how uncomfortable it is.  
  
He is swimming and he remembers a lake and a Lady and a man crying. He remembers red eyes and he remembers pain and betrayal as well as love and peace. He remembers thankfulness and a familiar pair of arms around him. He does not remember dying.  
  
Arthur J. Pendragon remembers fragments of a previous life. He just does not remember living it.

**Author's Note:**

> I loved writing this story. I know it is a little repetitive but I felt like this was the way of telling it. 
> 
> I am not sure if I am going to continue this and make it a longer story, but I do feel like it has a lot of potential. For the moment this is a one-shot, but I am open to ideas and feedback as of what should I do: leave this story alone or figure out how to make it a chaptered story. 
> 
> Feedback is important and encouraged.
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](http://exolovek.tumblr.com/) or check out my [Merlin Fic's Rec Blog](https://howshitgoes.tumblr.com)


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